Sand and Stars

by Diane Duane

  “Sarek here, Commander,” he replied.

  “I have a message coming in for you, Ambassador,” she said. “The codes accompanying it identify it as being from Freelan…. ” The way she trailed off alerted the ambassador.

  “Is it originating there?”

  “All the codes are correct, and the directional frequency is right…but I don’t believe it’s actually coming from there. My guess is that the transmission is being relayed via Freelan from some other location.”

  Sarek nodded. “That does not surprise me, Commander Uhura. Please patch the message through to me here…and, if you can do so without arousing suspicion, trace the actual origination coordinates of the message.”

  “Understood, Ambassador,” she replied. Almost immediately the comm screen in Sarek’s cabin flickered, and, a moment later, he found himself facing a Freelan. Despite the fact that Freelans appeared virtually identical in their shrouding robes, the Vulcan was certain that his caller was Taryn. “Greetings,” Sarek said, cautiously. “This is Ambassador Sarek. Whom do I have the honor of addressing, please?”

  “This is Liaison Taryn,” the image’s mechanical tones responded, without preamble. “Ambassador…I must ask you to meet with me on a matter of some urgency.”

  “Where would you like to meet?” Sarek said. “As you have already discovered, I am not on Vulcan.”

  Taryn’s shrouded figure moved slightly, and the Vulcan thought he detected tension in the dark form. “Why…I had hoped you could come here, as is our custom,” the Freelan liaison said.

  “When would you prefer to meet?”

  “As soon as possible.”

  Sarek shook his head. “I fear that will be difficult, Liaison. The ship that is my transport has been diverted to patrol the Neutral Zone. I will be unable to meet with you until theEnterprise has completed its current mission. Why do you need to meet with me, Liaison?”

  Taryn did not reply for a long moment. “That trade agreement we negotiated last month concerningkivas shipments,” he said, finally. “My government has overridden some of the provisions I agreed to. I have no choice but to ask you to reconvene the negotiations.”

  Sarek raised an eyebrow in feigned surprise. “Overridden?” he asked. “Liaison, when we met, I trusted that I was dealing with someone with sufficient authority to negotiate in good faith. I am…disappointed…to discover that you no longer have the backing of your government.”

  When the liaison replied, the Vulcan could hear the anger lacing his voice, even through the mechanical tones. “I assure you, Ambassador, that this is simply a temporary setback. I have not lost the backing of my government. I do have the power to negotiate in good faith for my world.”

  For the first time, Sarek permitted a touch of sarcasm to tinge his own voice. “Your world? Which world is that?”

  “What do you mean?” Taryn demanded angrily.

  “My apologies,” Sarek said, smoothly. “My mind must be…confused. Age catches up with all of us, as the human aphorism would have it. For just a moment I thought I was speaking with someone else…a diplomat from another world altogether, by the name of…Nanclus. You never met him, of course. He was executed for treason last month.”

  “When can you meet with me?” Taryn asked, and the mechanical tones could not disguise the cold fury in his voice.

  “I do not know,” Sarek said, honestly. “I will have to consult with the ship’s officers to discover that. I will speak with you again by the end of today, Liaison.”

  “I may be away…at a government conference,” Taryn said. “My aide will take your message, Ambassador.”

  “Very well.” Sarek inclined his head and raised his hand in the Vulcan salute. “I wish you peace…and long life, Taryn.”

  Without replying, the Freelan broke the connection.

  Sarek sat staring at the screen for a moment, until Uhura’s face flickered into view. “Ambassador Sarek…I was correct, sir. That call was patched through Freelan channels, but its actual point of origin was in a sector of the Romulan Neutral Zone. The exact coordinates are a few hours’ journey from our present location.”

  Sarek inclined his head graciously. “I thank you for your diligence, Commander,” he said. “I find that information unsurprising…but…” His mouth curved slightly as he thought about his son’s reaction. “…fascinating.”

  In his office aboardShardarr, Commander Taryn pulled off his muffling Freelan cowl and inhaled a deep breath of “fresh” air before turning to face Savel, who was sitting across the desk from him. “He knows.” The commander’s deep voice was grim. “He knows everything. Now he mocks me with his knowledge. There is no question anymore. Ambassador Sarek must die…and as quickly as possible.”

  Quickly, the commander contacted Poldar over the intercom and ordered him to plot a course that would take them within subspace jamming range of theEnterprise.

  “Our foremost ships are still half a day’s journey away from our present location, Commander,” the centurion reported, when asked.

  “What will you do now?” Savel inquired softly.

  The commander gave her an enigmatic glance. “Delay, Savel. MakeEnterprise notice me, then hunt me, then chase me…until it is my pleasure to turn the tables, and hunther.”

  Savel gazed at him, her eyes wide and haunted, full of silent apprehension and sadness.Where is Soran? If he dies…I will be the cause of it…of all of this…

  “Pityr,” Valdyr whispered against the cadet’s ear, “we have to leave now.”

  Peter Kirk groaned, not certain whether he’d actually slept, or simply lain, half-drugged with exhaustion and satisfaction. The room appeared the same as it had when they’d entered it, the lantern still illuminating the dimness, and he had no sense of time.

  “Pityr,” she whispered, “it is time. We must go.”

  “Not yet,” he argued. “Just a few more minutes…”

  She sighed, then relaxed against him. “One more minute,” she said. “Perhaps two. But no more,’Iwoy…”

  The human stroked her back, feeling the contours of flesh over bone that weren’t quite human. He realized that he ached.I must be covered with bruises, he thought, remembering what had passed between them and marveling at it.Not to mention toothmarks… A faint taste lingered in his mouth, sweet and somewhat smoky. Peter ran his tongue over his raw, bruised lips. The faint saltiness of his own blood now mingled with the alien taste of hers.

  He tightened his arms around her, then kissed her again. He didn’t want to leave now. He didn’t even want to move, though the floor they were lying on was so cold and hard that he was shivering.

  Finally he raised his head, resisting the urge to kiss her again, to savor the taste and texture andfeel of her strange mouth again…and again. “What time is it?”

  “It is the middle of our night,” she explained, as she picked up her small lantern.

  “The few soldiers my uncle left here with Karg should be weary from searching for us since the midday meal. Karg would’ve come looking for me shortly after I failed to heed his summons. I don’t know how long it would be before they missed Darj. Eventually, someone would’ve thought to check your cell.” He was surprised to see her grin.

  She stood, and began pulling her clothing into place, then redonned her armor. “They will search the road to TengchaH Jav—the closest spaceport. Even if Karg were bright enough to figure out that we hid on the premises—which he’s not—he will have to search very discreetly. Kamarag gave orders that nothing should arouse suspicion from any official agency of the Klingon government.”

  “So, what’s our plan?” he asked, as he slipped on his boots.

  “We will take the tunnels to the farthest exit, and come out in the woods near the south road. We can stay in the forest and follow the road to the spaceport. It will be perhaps nine of your kilometers to the port.”

  “Can’t they scan for me while we’re under here?” he asked. “After all, Iam the only human in the near
by vicinity.”

  She patted a wall. “There is so much selonite in these walls that scanning rays cannot penetrate. That is why they cannot follow us here—to the scanners, this does not exist.”

  “And once we’re out of the tunnels?”

  “I have a small tracer for you. It will give off a false registration—make the scanners think you are another Klingon. Soldiers carry them so they can be found where they fall in battle, so they might receive their warrior’s ritual. It will mask your readings.”

  “Suppose we’re seen?” Peter asked. He tapped his forehead. “Don’t you think someone might notice?”

  “I have a hooded cloak for you,” she said. “I cached one here yesterday.” She opened a recessed drawer under the stone sleeping shelf and pulled it out.

  “You’ve thought of everything,” Peter said, “I think. What happens when we get to the spaceport?”

  “We will have to get past the security gates, and keep a close eye out for Karg’s troops. Then, I will help you find a ship.” She hesitated, glancing at him sideways. “You will escape Qo’noS…. ”

  “You meanwe will. Right?” he demanded, taking her by the shoulders. “You’re coming with me, back to Earth. Aren’t you?”

  Valdyr gazed up at him, smiling sadly. “That is what I thought too, at first. But…I’ve reconsidered. Pityr…be realistic. A Klingon, on Earth? How could I live? I would be an exile, an outcast, living among a species that hates my people—even as my people hate yours…. ”

  “We don’t have to stay on Earth,” Peter insisted. “There are colonies where evenwe wouldn’t be noticed.”

  “And your career in Starfleet?”

  “Listen, all that time alone in that cell made me think, too, and one of the things I’ve realized is that I’mnot James T. Kirk—and I never will be. I want to bemyself. I’m not cut out to be a legend, Valdyr. I’m just not cut out for command.” He regarded her worriedly. “Valdyr-oy…think what will happen if you stay behind! Your uncle…when he catches up with you…”

  Her exotic alien beauty almost glowed as she responded assuredly, “Do not worry, Pityr-oy. He will not catch me. I will die by theHeghba’, with my honor intact.”

  It took the human a second to realize that she meant ritual suicide, and when he did, his hands tightened convulsively on her shoulders. “No!” he cried. “Don’t even think it!”

  “I have betrayed my family by helping you,” she pointed out reasonably. “There is no other path left to regain my honor.”

  “Don’ttalk like that,” he said fiercely, his heart pounding with fear for her. “You’renot doing that! I won’t let you! You’ll have to fight me, Valdyr…!” He stopped, realizing how frantic he sounded.

  Her face was very close to his in the confines of the dusty, stone-walled chamber. Peter felt her breath touch his face as she said, softly, “The last time I fought you, I won. But you were exhausted, at the end of your stamina. I do not think it will be so easy for me the next time.”

  He pressed his cheek against hers and held her to him. If that was the best she could do for capitulation, he’d take it. But at least she knew if she attempted to stay behind at the spaceport, he wouldn’t give in without a struggle.

  “Now, wemust go,” she whispered and, taking his hand, led him out of the room.

  She led Peter along dark, dusty corridors that twisted and turned without rhyme or reason. They traveled a surprisingly long time, saying nothing, with no light but Valdyr’s small hand-held lantern.

  Finally, the corridor they were in ended in a tunnel that ran straightup, with an ancient-looking, battered wooden ladder traveling up into the darkness. Without a word, Valdyr began climbing, and Peter followed without hesitation. Finally, she halted, and Peter could see an opening in the stone before her.

  “Good,” Valdyr whispered. “They have not discovered this exit. Quickly, now!” She was out of the opening in seconds, and Peter clambered out after her. And then for the first time he stood on Qo’noS’s soil, conscious and aware. Despite Valdyr’s urgency, he paused to glance around.

  In the darkness, the forest looked like any forest at night—heavy tree trunks crowding in on one another, with tangled, shapeless underbrush at their roots. In the daylight, the colors and textures that would make this forest unique—alien—would be revealed, but for now, all that was lost.

  Then Peter glanced skyward—and stood transfixed. Overhead, washed in gold by the reflected light of the sun on the planet’s other side, Qo’noS’s ring arched like a bridge—a broken bridge. The shadow of Qo’noS bisected the middle of the ring, leaving it in darkness.

  Valdyr threw the cloak over his shoulders and fastened the tracers. “Pull your hood up,” she commanded him. “We must hurry.”

  James T. Kirk picked his way cautiously down a narrow animal trail, squinting in the darkness. From the look of Qo’noS’s ring, it was nearly midnight. His night vision was excellent, almost as good as Spock’s. (Unfortunately, the same could not be said for his regular eyesight—and he’d now gone through so many pairs of spectacles for reading that Bones McCoy claimed to have exhausted the supply in all the antique shops in San Francisco.)

  The rescue party had had to detour around several large, private estates, which had nearly doubled their hike through the dark forest. Now, finally, the trees were thinning ahead of them. “How far are we from Kamarag’s compound?” Jim whispered ahead to Spock. “My sense of direction has been off ever since we made that last detour.”

  “We are almost—” The Vulcan broke off, and halted. “Correction. We are here.”

  Kirk pushed his way through the last screen of undergrowth, McCoy following him. Together, the little party looked down from a high ridge, seeing the huge, fortresslike house down in the hollow, surrounded by both high stone walls and modern security fields.

  “There seems to be a lot of activity going on,” Kirk said, noting the brilliant security lights and the presence of many armed figures racing to and fro.

  Spock regarded his tricorder intently. “Peter is no longer within the compound,” Spock said.

  “Not there? Then where is he? Did they take him off-world?” Kirk demanded, startled. Had Kamarag decided not to meet at the rendezvous? Had the Klingon ambassador somehow discovered that Kirk had no intention of obeying his instructions, and had returned to execute his nephew in revenge?

  “Peter has vanished,” Spock said. “He is not in the compound at the present moment. However,” the Vulcan added, fiddling with his tricorder, taking readings, “that does not necessarily mean that he is now off-world. The rock formations in this area contain traces of selonite…the same material that forms the basis for the cloaking device. It makes readings impossible. If some of that selonite-impregnated rock is between us and Peter, that would make it impossible to scan him.”

  Kirk groaned aloud. “Just what we need!”

  “I believe I should continue scanning,” Spock said. “I may be able to pick him up again…if he is in the area.”

  Leonard McCoy plopped himself down on the ground with a groan. “Haven’t hiked this much since Yellowstone,” he grumbled, digging into his belt pouch and taking out a small flask and container of ration pellets.

  The three officers silently shared the skimpy provisions as Spock continued to study the screen of his tricorder. “Fascinating,” the Vulcan murmured, after a few minutes. “I am picking up something…confusing. For a moment I thought I had detected Peter, but now the human readings are blending and merging…becoming intermixed with Klingon readings.”

  “Where? What location?” Kirk demanded, jumping up.

  “Due north,” Spock said, pointing. “On the other side of the compound.”

  “Is it possible that it might be Peter, somehow masking his readings?” McCoy asked, peering at the tricorder’s tiny screen.

  “I believe it may be,” Spock muttered.

  “Well, it’s the best lead we’ve got,” Kirk said.

  “C
aptain…these readings are moving toward the spaceport,” Spock said. “Slowly…at a walking pace.” Spock glanced up at his friend. “I believe, Jim, that your nephew has not waited for rescue. He has, instead, effected his own escape.”

  Kirk felt a slow grin spread across his features. “Well, that was damned inconsiderate of him, wasn’t it?”

  “Now what?” McCoy wondered aloud.

  “Guess our next stop will be the spaceport, too,” Kirk said, glancing at his wrist chrono. “See that ground vehicle that just pulled up there, outside the security gate?” He pointed down into the hollow.

  “Yes, Captain,” Spock replied.

  “Think you could hot-wire that thing?”

  “I believe I can, Captain,” Spock said.

  “Good. Let’s make our way down there…slowly. Keep low. Take no chances. We’ve got plenty of time; we’re going to hijack that car in just about…forty-five minutes.”

  The three officers cautiously made their way down the little ridge, crawling commando-style where they was no ground cover. Finally, they huddled crouched in a thicket about thirty meters from the guard station. The driver and the guard were standing outside, talking desultorily. The fugitive trio waited in silence, until, finally, Kirk glanced at his chrono again. “Ready, Spock?”

  “Ready, Captain.”

  Kirk counted seconds in his head, and then, right on schedule, came the moment he’d been waiting for. A dull boom erupted from the forest they’d left behind, and a gout of distant yellow and red flame brightened the night. Half a second later, the ground beneath their feet shuddered.

  “That’s it!” Kirk said, grabbing McCoy and propelling him out of their hiding place. “Go!”

  Spock was already racing forward. The guard was still outside his security station, his gaze fixed on the fire in the foothills. He never saw the Vulcan’s dark figure, never realized that anyone was there—until a hand clamped onto the juncture of neck and shoulder, and he sagged, limp.

  The driver turned toward his fallen comrade, then launched himself at Spock’s dimly seen shape with a loud war cry. Kirk darted up behind him, chopped him hard on the neck, then kicked his feet out from under him. When the Klingon, dazed but still game, tried to get up, the captain stunned him with his phaser.